Shadow Rites

Most important, every piece of my weaponry was visible, strapped outside my shirt and atop my jeans and in my boots, from the two matching-scarlet-gripped Walther PK .380s beneath each shoulder and the H&K nine-mils on each thigh rig, to the multiple vamp-killers in sheaths at my belt and on my thighs, to the stakes in multiple tiny sheaths and in my bun. The Benelli M4 Super 90 shotgun rode in its spine rig, collapsible stock extended and sticking up behind the nape of my neck as protection from rear vamp attack. All of them in the brand spanking new Kydex holsters and the new weapons rigs.

Everyone in the living room stopped dead when I walked in, heels clomping. I let them look. And I grinned slowly, showing teeth. Kit-Kit spat at me, her hair standing out in fear. She spun and raced into the butler’s pantry, to safety.

The .380s were loaded with standard ammo. The nine-mils were loaded with silver. The Benelli was loaded with six rounds, each round hand-packed silver fléchettes, loaded for vamp. Half of the stakes were solid sterling silver. Half were wood. If a vamp was working with the witches, I was ready to take him down.

Angie Baby said, her voice a breath of sound, “Aunt Jaaane.” She was sitting in the small wingback chair she had chosen before, her Cherokee doll in her lap, her red-gold curls falling around her. “You look dangerous.”

Little Evan echoed, “Dang-er-sus.” Then he threw his arms into the air and shouted, “Gun! I wanna play guns!”

I glared at the toddler and said, “No. Do you understand me? No guns. Not now. Not ever.”

His lips quivered, blue eyes filling with tears. “You got guns.”

“Yes. And what am I?”

“Dang-er-sus?”

“Yes.” I leaned in, letting him see the threat that I was. He leaned back into his father’s chest and Big Evan put his arms around his son. “I am not a nice person,” I said. “I am dangerous. I kill bad people. You are not like me. You don’t need guns. You have magic. And that is way better than guns.”

Both kids stared at me for a few uncomfortable heartbeats and then turned to their parents.

“Listen to your aunt Jane,” Big Evan said, his face showing no emotion.

I nodded and looked to my partners. For once Eli had not read my mind. He was wearing a suit. And his mouth was hanging open. “I thought,” he said, “that we were attending the dress rehearsal for the security arrangements at the Elms tonight.”

“We are. So, shouldn’t you be in your fighting leathers?” I asked.

“I thought—” He stopped.

“You thought I’d refuse to wear my new leathers. You thought I’d go all fashion ball gown on them. Or wear one of Madame Melisende’s jackets and only a few weapons. You got it partly right, the part about me not ruining my new leathers, but you overthought it. We got multiple enemies. I’m dressing for enemies. Go get casual.”

I looked at the Kid in his new suit, the one he was expected to wear when he ran the security system that he had set up today while I slept and would give a test run on tonight. He’d ruin the suit if he had to climb around. I shook my head. “You too. Jeans and a shirt.” When neither of them moved, I clapped my hands once and said, “Make it snappy, boys.”

They both headed for the stairs at speed. Alex whispered, “I told you so.”

“Shut up,” Eli whispered back.

A heartbeat later I heard Edmund’s car shut off in the side yard, and he stepped inside. I had never seen Edmund in blue jeans and a white tailored shirt. With the sleeves rolled up. On some level it really bothered me that Edmund had read my mind better than Eli had, but I didn’t let it show on my face.

He glanced at me, took in my wardrobe choices, and said, “Copycat.” The accusation made me feel marginally better, which might have been his intention. He gave me a shallow bow and produced a small box. The kind jewelry once came in from high-end stores. Much more formally, he asked, “My mistress. May I present your goddaughter a gift?”

“What kind of gift?” I could help the suspicion in my tone. He was a vamp, after all, and Angie had marked her face with his blood when she swore to him.

“When I was human, I had a daughter. She passed of the bloody flux while I was in devoveo, and her belongings were kept by a Mithran friend. Little has survived the ages, but this one thing. I would offer it to Angelina in recognition and acknowledgment for her promise to me and proof that I will not allow the blood-oath she made to me to become effective until she is twenty-one. And as testimony and witness of my fealty to her, as proof that I will protect her for as long as she lives.” He held my eyes, his own full of entreaty. Edmund’s body smelled of purpose and resolve, like a sweet scent of distant jasmine, carried on a night wind, twined with the scent of copper. If integrity had a scent, this was it. Strangely the mixed scent of human blood from his early feedings didn’t detract from that.

I gestured to the box; the rotting velvet fell to ash as he lifted the top away. The scent of age, old walnut wood, ancient illness, and dried tears wafted out as the light fell inside. Two tarnished metal rings had been affixed to the wooden sides so long ago that verdigris marred the wood. New satin ribbons had been tied to each. The ribbons then passed through specially made loops in a velvet cushion, which was new also. The ribbons held the cushion in place and also secured a tiny gold ring, centered with a faceted peridot. The setting was made of tiny hands, holding the jewel. It was delicate and pretty.